


Bad Boy

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [38]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyle gets what he deserves after embarrassing Lester in the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Boy

“Are you sulking?” Jon Lyle was using his best wheedling voice, but he wasn’t convinced it was working.

“No,” said Lester, proving yet again that he could tell lies for England, even when he wasn’t being paid for it.

“It was only a cuddly toy!” Lyle was conscious of the fact that a faint note of irritation was starting to creep into his own voice. After all, he had spent the entire taxi ride back to Lester’s flat apologising.

“It was a four foot high fluffy green Tyrannosaurus,” said Lester, in the same mild tone he always used to such good effect on Cutter.

“Don’t you like him?” Lyle knew he was starting to sound like a sulky teenager now, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Lester opened the door, hung his coat up carefully on the rack in the cloakroom, then turned the full weight of his disapproval onto his errant lover.

“Don’t change the subject. I shall want a full report by Monday on quite how you managed to by-pass every security system in the Home Office with that … _object_.”

Lyle watched as a faint shudder ran down Lester’s spine. The minister clearly hadn’t approved of cuddly toys in the workplace. But how the hell was Lyle meant to have known that his lover had a 9am meeting with his boss, and that they’d both arrive in the foyer together and that Lester would usher the minister straight into his office.

“Where do you want him?” asked Lyle, still clutching the toy.

“Don’t tempt me, Jon,” said Lester. “And it’s a bloody miracle we didn’t have to pay extra to fit the bloody thing in the taxi.”

Lyle grinned. “I think he’s cute. He was the biggest one they had in Harrods.”

“And size matters?”

Lyle’s grin slid into a suggestive smirk. He knew that provided he kept up the puppy dog eyes Lester would come round eventually.

“Put the dinosaur down and go into the bedroom, Jon.”

“Forgiven me already, sweetie?” As soon as the words left Lyle’s lips, the soldier knew he’d pushed his luck that little bit too soon.

Lester’s thin lips set in a hard line, and a familiar steely look entered his eyes. “No. Do as you’re told, Jon, into the bedroom, now!”

Lyle’s cock jumped and he felt the first hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. They didn’t often play dominance games, but when they did, he enjoyed them. Hoping he’d managed to achieve a suitably nonchalant expression, he deposited the cuddly dinosaur next to a large Chinese vase in the hallway and sauntered off in the direction of the bedroom.

Lester followed him into the room and opened a cupboard. To his surprise, Lyle watched his lover pull out a thin dog lead. A thin red leather dog lead, to be quite precise.

“Woof, woof?” hazarded Lyle. “Honey, why have you got a dog lead when you haven’t got a dog?”

“My aunt left it behind and I never got round to posting it back to her, if you must know. Now shut up and do as you’re told for once, Jon. I’ve had quite enough of your smart mouth today. From now on, you don’t open it at all, unless it’s to suck my cock or beg for more. Got that?”

Lyle’s dick really did jump to attention at that point, and he knew from the feral grin on his lover’s face that he’d totally failed to dampen the blush suffusing his cheeks. He opened his mouth to protest, and was forestalled by Lester shaking the lead and raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Lyle grinned and dropped his head submissively.

“That’s better,” said Lester, with approval. “Drop your trousers and pants.”

Not taking his eyes off the extremely expensive Persian rug on the bedroom floor, Lyle fumbled with the belt of his jeans and then slowly pushed down his jeans and underwear, so they dropped into a pile at his feet, effectively hobbling him to the spot. His cock jutted out, clearly not objecting to any of the orders that had been given so far.

“Turn round and put your hands against the wall.” Lester’s voice had now taken on a darker edge and Lyle began to wonder if maybe the whole cuddly toy episode had really been one of his better ideas. He was beginning to think maybe not.

He shuffled carefully around and placed his hands on the bedroom wall, making sure he kept his cock far enough away from the wallpaper so as not to leave any marks. Lester really would bitch if the no doubt very expensive pale golden paper with the fleur de lys pattern ended up stained with his come.

“Very wise,” said Lester, approvingly. “If you get one single spot of your bodily fluids in the wrong place you’ll be decorating this room in your spare time for the rest of the month, sweetheart. So no coming until I tell you to, Jon.”

Lyle dropped his head again by way of assent and watched a bead of pre-come forming at the tip of his cock. He had a nasty feeling that following the last instruction was going to be a lot harder than it sounded.

A sudden flare of pain across his backside ripped a surprised yelp from Lyle’s lips. The bastard had hit him with the clip-end of the lead and it had fucking hurt!

“That got your attention,” said Lester, smugly. “But no more yelling, darling, we don’t want to disturb the neighbours, do we?”

Lyle glared at the wall, which appeared to be wholly unmoved by his plight.

The next blow came from the other end of the lead, and the sound of leather slapping across his arse was loud in the sudden silence that had descended on the bedroom. Lyle had been expecting it this time, and not so much as a hiss escaped him now.

The third blow followed fast and felt like it had landed right on the same spot as the others. His arse was really hurting now, and he began to wonder what people saw in spanking as a form of erotic activity. He was also beginning to wonder how long Lester was going to spin this out for. And anyway, this wasn’t bloody spanking, it was _whipping_!

The fourth slap of the leather stung like a hornet bite, but it still did nothing to reduce his erection. The pearly drop that had formed there had been shaken off by the last blow of the dog-lead, but had fortunately landed on the tangle of clothes at his feet and not on the rug.

Lyle knew perfectly well that his face was as red as his arse by now and he was starting to feel like a right prat, but he was damned if he was going to let James Lester get the better of him in this game, or he’d never hear the end of it. He tensed himself for the next blow … which never came.

“Move away from the wall and strip properly, Jon.” Lester’s voice managed to combine off-hand and slightly bored in a way that had no doubt psychologically damaged entire generations of his minions.

Shuffling carefully around, Lyle toed his trainers off and managed to rid himself of the pile of clothing around his feet without falling over. His socks and tee shirt followed in an untidy heap. Nakedness had never bothered Lyle. He’d spent far too long in the army to be self-conscious about his body, but there was something about the calm, appraising way Lester was eyeing him up and down that started another blush forming. He bit back the urge to make some sort of quip.

Lester acknowledged his efforts with a sardonic twitch of his thin lips. “Kneel down and bend over the bed, Jon, arms outstretched.”

Lyle took up the position, as ordered, the cotton duvet cover feeling cool against the heat of his cock.

A sharp _thwap_ of the thin leather against his arse sent a jolt of pain-pleasure up his spine.

“Don’t hump the bed, Jon! You’re not a bloody puppy, much as you might act like one.”

“Woof, woof,” muttered Lyle, before he could stop himself.  
A second later, a hand landed on his backside, hard, and his breath hissed out between his teeth.

“Why the army hasn’t thrown you out, I’ll never know,” commented Lester, punctuating each word with a hard slap, until Lyle’s arse was hot and stinging.

The soldier buried his face in the duvet and concentrated on staying still. Each blow had driven him against the bed-covers, providing some friction against his cock, but nowhere near enough. The desire to rub himself against the bed was so acute that Lyle could feel his cheeks flaming as red as his rear. If anyone had asked him six months ago whether he would have got a kick out of being spanked by another bloke, he’d have laughed himself sick at the mere idea. But now he was hard as he’d ever been and he was all too conscious of the fact that he was already starting to lift his arse into the next blow, rather than shrinking away from it.

A moment later, he heard the soft rustle of Lester removing his own clothes, and no doubt folding them neatly over the back of chair. The small sound of a plastic cap being flipped off a bottle told him what was about to happen next, but to his surprise, it was Lester’s cock that started to press against his tight entrance, not his lover’s fingers.

It wasn’t the first time Lester had fucked him without preparation, but this wasn’t something they did very often. His lover’s well-lubed cock pushed into him and the burn forced a quiet gasp from Lyle’s lips. Instantly, Lester pulled back and an open-handed slap caught him across one arse-cheek. The message was clear.

This time, a finger did circle his hole, applying more cool lube, stroking tantalisingly, then Lester positioned himself again and pushed forward.

Lyle pushed back, wanting more.

He failed to bite back another moan as his lover backed off again. This wasn’t bloody fair! He’d only broken into the Home Office and left an over-sized cuddly toy sitting in Sir James Lester’s chair. It wasn’t his fault their security sucked. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that the Home Secretary had no sense of humour. But maybe this wasn’t the time to bring that up again.

The expected slap landed on over-sensitive skin again, pushing Lyle’s rigid cock against the bed, and no doubt leaving a tell-tale damp patch behind that would get him into more trouble later.

And then Lester was pressing into him again, rocking slightly, shallow and teasing, his hips feeling cool against Lyle’s over-heated flesh and the soldier found himself gripping the duvet tightly in both hands as he fought the urge to move.

A light laugh greeted his efforts and Lester’s breath ghosted over his back, raising hairs and sending another involuntary shiver down his spine. “You can beg now, if you like, Jon,” said an amused voice.

Lyle debated keeping quiet, but he knew that Sir James Bloody Lester was quite capable of calling the game off if he didn’t play like a nice puppy. Ignoring his own blushes, he muttered, “Hit me again.”

“Manners,” chided Lester. “Your mother brought you up better than that, Lieutenant.”

“Please?” said Lyle, more than a little glad that his formidable mother was in blissful ignorance of the fact that he was face down on the bed, in danger of getting carpet burns on his knees, with another man’s cock up his reddened arse. Beloved only son or not, his mother was a tabloid journalist through and through.

He felt Lester slowly withdraw and rub himself up between his arse cheeks, massaging his cock over Lyle’s now relaxed hole, then the other man pulled back and obliged with a slap that was, if anything, even harder than the rest had been.

Lyle pushed back, desperate for more contact, the word, “Please,” falling effortlessly from his lips. His mother would have been proud of his good manners.

“That’s better,” murmured Lester, pushing back into Lyle’s unresisting body, thrusting a little deeper now, grazing Lyle’s prostate and setting off sparks behind his eyes. “Keep begging, Jon. Begging suits you.”

“Fuck me,” Lyle groaned needily. “Please …”

On this occasion, his words didn’t seem to have the desired effect, as Lester pulled out, applied another half dozen hard slaps, then slipped in again, this time burying himself balls-deep into Lyle’s stinging arse, as his two strong thumbs spread Lyle’s cheeks, holding him apart.

A fierce blush suffused the soldier’s face. He knew perfectly well that his lover was getting off on the sight of his own cock sliding in and out of Lyle’s hole, glistening with lube, slack and relaxed. But he was beyond embarrassment now. He wanted to come and he didn’t care who knew it. Christ, the way he felt, he wouldn’t give a damn if his mother and a whole crew of bloody press photographers were in the room right now …. And dammit, why the hell did he have to keep thinking of his mother at a time like this?

“What are you thinking about, Jon?” murmured Lester, thrusting slowly in and out.

“You,” Lyle lied, glad he was face down in the duvet.

“Liar,” said an amused voice. “What do I have to do to get you to stop you thinking?”

“Fuck me harder?” hazarded the soldier, adding breathlessly, “Please? Make me come.”

“It’s never hard to make you come,” said Lester, withdrawing, returning to circling a teasing finger round Lyle’s slack hole. “You look good like this, Jon. Arse all red, open and begging for it. You want me to come inside you, don’t you?”

Lyle’s cock twitched frantically. Lester didn’t make a habit of talking dirty. Hell, he didn’t make a habit of any of this, but that was something Lyle was seriously thinking of changing. “Yes,” he murmured, wanting to feel Lester so far inside him that it would hurt. “Please,” and this time the word held a note of desperation that he had no desire to suppress.

Lester slid inside him and set up a hard, fast stroke, burying himself to the hilt each time. Lyle’s arse still stung, and that, added to the pounding his prostate was getting, was driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“Gonna come,” he gasped, conscious that he was getting dangerously close to disobeying the order he had been given.

“No.” Lester’s voice was flint-hard. “I told you before, you’ll come when I say so, and not before!”

This time Lyle knew perfectly well that his moan was more of a whimper. He’d get the piss ripped out of him for that later, but right now he didn’t give a monkey’s damn. His lover’s cock was brushing over his prostate on every stroke, spikes of pleasure were being driven up his spine and his cock was threatening to explode. He fisted his hands in the duvet cover and tried to apply the techniques they’d been taught back in Hereford to take their minds off pain.

But his bloody instructors hadn’t exactly envisaged a situation like this, or if they had, they’d been keeping studiously quiet about it.

Behind him, Lester gave a snort of irritation, muttering, “You’re thinking again, darling. I told you, thinking’s not allowed.”

And a second later, the metal end of the dog lead slammed across Lyle’s arse hard enough to bruise. The gasp that was ripped from Lyle’s lips fell mid-way between a curse and an entreaty. The second blow was even harder, then Lester said, with obvious amusement, “You can come now,” and then Lyle was thrusting against the end of the bed, sparks igniting behind his eyes as he gasped through his climax.

Then with wild aftershocks still running through his body, he felt Lester pushing inside him again and two strong hands gripped his hips and held him in place while his lover ruthlessly plundered his body in pursuit of his own pleasure.

Sitting down might well prove interesting for the next couple of days, but if Lyle had his way, the dog lead wasn’t going to be reunited with its owner any time soon.  



End file.
